Strange Revelations
by dreamerbabylioness
Summary: Sequel (if you can call it that) to confused beginnings. Finally, I know, I'm sorry.. but at least it's here!!!
1. Default Chapter

~*~**Prologue/Intro/Thingy**~*~****

Somewhere I can hear stupid carnival music. I was _told_ that this is a gypsy-gathering-thing, not a carnival. I hate carnivals. Ever since the tender age of six, when I was scared out of my mind by a stupid clown. And er… that made me… react. The way I normally do when something shocks me. By way of… foot. Needless to say, while I could not inflict much pain due to the fact that I was, of course, only six, it still scarred me for life. I cannot look at one of those afro-haired, makeup-wearing, hugely-footed _freaks_ without shuddering or at getting the insane urge to wipe that painted-on smile off its stupid face. And not with a tissue either.

Luckily, however, I don't see any clowns. Just a bunch of tents, gypsy wagons, and little kids running around with dreamcatchers. I can't believe they're making me wait. Geez. I was the only person there, hello! Noone else around. And then Madam Zara, who, it seems, remembers me, and also, it seems, sensed I was coming, kindly asked me if I would wait, just for another half hour or so, until she was done with everyone else. Normally, I would not stand for any of that – excuse the language – crap. But, Madam Zara, she's one of those people that well… you know, you can't really be mean to them. To they're face anyway.

So, there I am, sitting on the ground next to her tent. It's a really dry place for California… but maybe it's just because so many people have walked over the ground and so stuff can't grow there anymore. I'd tried walking around for the first 5 minutes, but immediately decided that most of the place, apart from my one interest there, was not my sort of thing. Plus, I think the appeal of it was to people between the ages of 6 and 10, or like, those new age people. It's not that I _really_ have anything against that – mostly because, well, Madam Zara had proven she was for real – but then, who said Madam Zara wasn't an exception? You know, the rest could all be phonies. You never know.

Oh well. At least the dry ground doesn't look that bad anymore. It now has many little flowers, stars, hearts and circles drawn in the dust. Courtesy of yours truly. 

Unfortunately, this is all at a price. I think my face is going to be _pretty_ red tomorrow. I didn't really think that I was going to need some SPF-13 to go on a trip to the _gypsies_, for goodness sake. But oh well. Maybe I'll get lucky.

I sigh. I've been doing that a lot the past week. Unfortunately. You see, it's been two weeks. _Two weeks_, I'm talking. NOT two days, or whatever. That would be acceptable. But you see, it's not two days. It's two weeks. Two weeks since I said the L word, which I didn't think he minded (after all, he said it first). Now, I know you're all going 'Oh no. Not that avoiding thing _again_!' Don't worry. He's not avoiding me.

But I'm sort of thinking I'd prefer that.

You see, he's… well… we're exactly the same as we were before! _Exactly_. You know, me inwardly calling out for him, dreaming of him; him totally oblivious and telling me exactly how much I suck at being a mediator. I suppose I deserve that though, having not figured out the whole Carparci thing yet. Mr Carparci, bless him, has only been back twice to tell me why I'm not getting the necklace to his daughter. I'm working on it… I just haven't managed to yet.

Finally, _finally_, the last person walks out of Madam Z's tent, and she follows.

'Suze. You can come in now.'


	2. Madame Zara Talk Part1

A/N: I am really, really sorry that I didn't update this story for so long. For three years now I've cut myself off from forgetting I ever wrote this story except for the odd review via email. It never really hit me that I had an unfinished story out there somewhere until the other day, when Koizak's email reminded me of the… responsibility, I guess, that I have to the people who read my story. I hate it when fanfic writers stop writing half way through a story. I'm sorry I became one of them.

So here I am, with two more parts, and hopefully a finished story very soon. If not, these parts should lead you to the conclusion anyway.

Once again, I am very very sorry. I was just scared to go on. Thank you so much all of you: elonahunter, KnightMaria, Liz, Morgaine of Ithil, bunnygirl1, darkcherry, mediator fan, sarah, musicgirl141, flonshoe, JesseLover20, nikki007, and Koizak, as well as the 53 reviewers of Confused beginnings. I'm so sorry I didn't finish this sooner, as it is very strange to write a story so long after starting it. I hope you're all not disappointed.

Without further ado, enjoy,

Louise

After sitting in the midday sun for several hours, the light inside the purple-curtained tent Madam Zara used for her predictions is suprisingly dark, and it took my eyes several seconds to become accustomed to the gloomy, dusty air inside. When they did, the sight is not altogether unsuprising. When I had first seen Madame Zara, her frizzy waist-length brown-grey hair bound up by a purple scarf, the many necklaces around her neck, amazingly large hoop earrings and icy blue eyes, the sight had stunned me. Now I'd grown so used to the strange that I didn't even blink. Nothing surprised me anymore.

At least, that's what I thought then.

"Come closer, Susannah" Madame Zara's soft, distinctly South American voice requested from the dark end of the room. "Take a seat." As I did as she said she became more distinct, still exactly the same, seated behind a large desk housing amongst other things a crystal ball and an ancient-looking book. The many rings on her fingers sparkled in the dim light.

"It has been a long time, child."

If anyone else called me a child I would slap them silly, but coming from Madame Zara it was almost sweet. I found myself nodding, intrigued by what she could reveal to me this time.

She fiddled with one of the largest rings on her finger, a mood stone shining blue. Her eyes, such a bright colour compared to the rest of her, looked up to me again.

"I have many more things to tell you. Things you might want to hear, now that you've become more… accustomed to the idea of being a mediator." Her long eyelashes fluttered. "Now that you have found The One and feel you know the doomed road your life will take, you have come to me, hoping for a solution to your problems. Are you sure you want to know?" She said in an urgent whisper. "It will not be easy. It has not been attempted for two thousand years. Even I am not sure of the risks involved."

Despite her words, I found myself leaning forward, wanting more.

"Yes Madame Zara, tell me the way."


	3. Madame Zara Talk Part2

She did not seem surprised. Rather, she seemed completely prepared for my reaction. Taking a long, level look at me, she nodded as though seeing what she wanted, and dragged the ancient-looking book in front of her. Blowing dust from the cover, she began.

"This book is an ancient guide to Mediators, translated from the mythologies of the Egyptians. They were well aware of the spiritual world as well as this one, and researched heavily into the field."

I found this a little hard to believe. Ancient Egyptians? From the _mythologies_? And had she _really_ said that noone had attempted it for two thousand years?

For that matter, what exactly was she suggesting?

I nodded, allowing her to continue.

"It talks of the different spiritual planes, and the way humans can perceive them. As you know, most humans can only see each other, what is known as the mortal plane. Once they pass on, they go either to the higher plane, or the spiritual plane." She cleared her throat. "The spiritual plane is where The One you have met lurks. The higher plane is where the fulfilled spirits go."

I got all this. I lived in the mortal plane, but I could see the spiritual plane. I'm guessing this higher plane is where I exorcized Jesse's whacked-up ex-girlfriend to.

"Although most mortals can see only the spiritual plane, some, such as yourself, can see the mortal, spiritual, and higher planes. Those living in the spiritual plane can see all three planes. As can those in the higher plane.

"It then goes further to talk about travel through planes. Obviously, regular mortals cannot travel to the spiritual or higher plane without undergoing a transformation, dying. Those in the spiritual plane can move freely between the spiritual and higher plane, but can only some times be visible and opaque, solid, in the mortal plane. Those in the higher plane cannot move at all, unless contacted by a medium or mediator." She took a long sip of water, obviously tired from all this talking. My mind was swimming in her words.

"Since those living in the spiritual plane can move to the mortal plane, they do, in fact, exist in the mortal plane. They just do not have the proper form, or 'shell' exhibited by most in the mortal plane, just as mediators do not have the proper 'spirit' exhibited by those in the mortal plane. Therefore, it is possible for one in the spiritual plane to be returned to the mortal plane."

I gasped. The world seemed to slow down. Colours blurred before my vision. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

"It says here there is a way to bring Jesse back. All you have to do is make it happen."

My mind was numb. Was this really happening? Had Madame Zara really spoken those words? Could Jesse really come back?

"The instructions are simple. All you need is the body of the one you want reborn, or some remnant of it. An anchor to help his soul find the way. The spirit of the one you seek. A reason for them to return. And both your and their own full belief that this is what they want. At midnight on the night of a full moon, you must have all these together, and you must both think of the reason he should join you. And then he will.

"There is only one more thing. You will be the anchor for his soul in the mortal plane. Just make sure The One is well aware of the fact."

She passed me a photocopied sheet, smiling. "I hope you find this all you want it to be. Thanks for the visit, Susannah. Pop by again soon, and bring along anyone you want," she said, winking.

I left in a daze.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm really sorry that, once again, I haven't updated this in so long. I am now working really hard to finish it, having a bit of free time the next couple of weeks, so hopefully the suspense won't kill you all for the little bit that's left :S_

_On a different note, I started this story three years ago, with a totally different writing style and idea of a storyline than I do now. I'm really sorry that the story doesn't seem (at least to me) to flow properly due to that gap. I'll try to sound more like I did at the beginning in the parts coming up_.

It had been thirty minutes since I'd walked from Madame Zara's dark tent, the photocopied sheet clenched in my fist, my head swimming with ideas, scenarios, the incredulity of the situation. Was it really possible that Jesse could become alive again? That, in fact, _I _could be the one to save him?

The notion seemed absurd, impossible, incomprehensible. And yet I was still compelled to believe it.

I could see the dead, those on the higher plane. I could see the undead, those on the spiritual plane. I could take those in the plane of the undead to the plane of the dead. I could take those in the plane of the dead to the plane of the undead, as I had with Jesse after he was exorcized. I could, technically, move someone from the plane of the living to the plane of the dead _or_ the plane of the undead. Why not the other way around?

It made sense, too, that people from an age so long ago would have discovered exactly how to do this. After all, I had already found ancient methods of exorcism to work, in more cultures than one. There may be an easier way, as there seemed to have been an easier way for Paul to reach the higher plane than to exorcize himself, but this way was almost guaranteed to work.

The thought made me shiver with amazement and apprehension. I could bring Jesse _here_. To _my _plane of existence. I could introduce him to my parents, my friends, go to my graduation dance with him, but mostly, and this thought sent thrills through me – give him the life he deserved, a real life, the life he'd been robbed of, a true chance to live. Jesse had been taken from this world far too early, and I had a chance to give him what he should have had.

I only hoped that it was what he wanted too.


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't go home straight away. While not being exactly the same subject, the meeting with Madame Zara had jolted me back into awareness of something I had been avoiding for far too long – my responsibility as a mediator to help those I can, a responsibility I had left untended far too long in the case of Fred Carpaci. This poor man had asked me for the tiniest of favours, and how had I repaid him? I'd looked his wife up in the white pages, given her a call, weeks ago now, ending in no results, and left it that way. I didn't deserve to be a mediator with the way I'd been acting lately, but the fantastic news from Madame Zara had kicked me back into the mode I should always be in: ready to help, even if that meant kicking some stingy widow butt.

There were still many hours of sunlight left so I figured, why not start helping now? I called Adam and made him google the easiest way to get there, caught the bus to the closest station to their house, and walked the extra kilometre.

Let me tell you, the area was alright. Not as snazzy as my road – but then, I do live in one of the richest and most prestigious areas in the state – but quaint, full of white picket fences and next-doorsey charm. I thought, well, if they can afford to live in this area, maybe this won't be that hard – it's only a necklace, after all.

The Carpaci house was just as nice as the other houses in the area, but more forlorn looking. The grass had grown a little longer than what was tasteful, the gate hung open, curtains were closed over all the windows. For a second I wondered if perhaps they had moved, but a car still stood in the driveway. I realised that I should have expected this appearance – after all, the father of this household had just died. The last thing they would possibly be thinking of was how long the grass was getting.

I sighed. Being a mediator did sometimes have its upsides – meeting the love of my life being one of them – but I was so tired of constantly being around death. These people must be in extreme turmoil, their whole life ripped apart, like my mother's had been when my dad died. They would be in a complete state of emotional shock, not nearly having come to terms with the situation yet, and along would come me – some girl who they would assume cared for nothing other than her looks and either her boyfriend or the accuisition of one – to throw their life into even more chaos. I was sick of watching the faces of families crumble as I push them to remember things which they would rather leave in the dark recesses of their memory, unfortunate occurances, insensitive quarrels, the bad things about the person they loved that they would rather not dwell on. I was sick of having to do this to solve problems when all the family really needed was some time.

I know I've said it before a million times, but I never asked for this job, and having done it for a number of years, I certainly don't want it. The warm fuzzies you receive from the good news is completely overshadowed by the destroyed faces of those you're delivering the news to.

Figuring I'd done enough staring for one morning, I starting trudging regretfully towards the front door. I sent out a quick thought to Fred. I knew he'd appreciate being there when I confronted his wife, just seeing him again. As I should have expected, he appeared straight away, shocking me. "How'd you get here so quick," I questioned him.

He sighed. "I was in the neighbourhood." His tone is full of mourning, and once again I was filled with sadness.

"Sorry I took so long," I told him as we reached the door. He smiled in understanding, and I lifted my hand and rung the doorbell.


	6. Chapter 6

For a while I heard nothing, and was once again afraid noone's home. But soon afterwards I heard a shuffling sound deep within the house, steps towards the door, and then the door creaked open.

Fred lets out another sad sigh. I look up to see the object of his unhappiness, a figure of black.

Mrs Carpaci had obviously been sad for a very long time. While she had a pretty face, her features hung limply, her face blotchy with continuous weeping. She was wearing nothing but black, and didn't look like she would be happy again for a long time.

"Yes?" She asked, her voice soft.

"Mrs Carpaci," I began, reigning in my emotions to take care of the situation. "I'm here on behalf of your late husband Fred. You might remember me, from the phone call? Two weeks ago?" When she slightly nods in understanding, her eyes opened in shock, I continue. "He has told me that he left in your posesion a certain necklace which was once owned by his grandmother, which he had wanted you to give to his daughter. He knows this hasn't been done, and would like you to rectify the situation."  
Mrs Carpaci sighed slowly, her eyes welled up with unshed tears.

"You'd better come in."

The inside of the Carparci household was a desolate as the outside. The shut curtains brought a feeling of gloom all over a house which, if the photos and cheerful decorations were anything to go by, had previously been happy and full of life. Death was a sad thing, and I hoped it wouldn't touch me again personally for a long time.

Mrs Carpaci was very nice to me as I entered, immediately going to the kitchen to make me a cup of coffee. As she was in the kitchen I glanced again at Mr Carpaci, only to find him sobbing quietly to himself.

I longed to be at home, in my cheerful pink room, away from all this suffering. I had so much to look forward to there, so much to tell Jesse, a lifetime ahead of me. I hoped that all would work out for the Carpacis, that Mrs Carpaci would find something else to live for, like my Mum had, and inwardly I was sure she would. The human spirit is not a fragile thing – it longs to survive. If anything, thirteen years of ghosts had taught me that.

After Mrs Carpaci returned to the room, carefully placed my coffee in front of me and collapsed on couch opposite with her nurturing her own, I told my story. I told her of how her husband had contacted me, so long ago, with his request. How it was what he wanted.

Mrs Carpaci remained sitting forlornly, few emotions playing across her face.

"You mean you have talked to him? Directly?" I nodded. "Does he," she paused, controlling herself. "Does he… look well?"

I reached over to put my hand on hers where it rested on the table, wanting to comfort her in any way I could. "He's fine Mrs Carpaci. He misses you and your daughter incredibly, but his spirit still survives. In fact, he is right here." Mrs Carpaci tried to control herself, but a sob still escaped.

"He's here?"

"Yes, and in fact he's been with you for all of these last weeks. And even after he moves on, when the necklace is not keeping him anymore, he will still be somewhere. I've seen it."  
Mrs Carpaci, rather than seeming happy at the declaration, burst out into tears, sobbing after what I'd said. Her shoulders shook as she cried, face in hands, totally letting go in her sadness.

"I- I can't," she said through her tears. "I can't give her the necklace. We have no money. We're going-" she sniffed, "we—we're going to lose the house if I don't keep paying to mortgage, and the life insurance just isn't enough – and—and," more sobs ripped from her body and I stared hopefully at Mr Carpaci, silently asking him what he wanted, but he was crying too.

"Mrs Carpaci, you can't keep living from pawning forever. If you're going to lose the house anyway, you may as well keep what is most valuable. Fred doesn't care about the house, he cares about you, and your daughter, and your families, and the way to keep him alive is to keep the necklace in the family."

I awkwardly stood up and kneeled before her, giving her a hug. "I know this is a hard time, Mrs Carparci, but you're a strong woman. You'll get through it."

She looked up at me and graced me with a wobbly smile. "Mrs Carpaci sounds so formal. Please, call me Margaret."


End file.
